


Latent

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Coming to Understanding [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bickering, Christmas Smut, Established Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Grinding, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "'Did you think I forgot your present, Shizu-chan?' Izaya tightens his legs around Shizuo’s hips. 'I thought about putting a bow on, but since you needed my help unwrapping it anyway…'" Izaya and Shizuo celebrate their own holiday tradition with each other.
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Series: Coming to Understanding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757185
Comments: 28
Kudos: 268





	Latent

Izaya’s expecting the thud of the knock against his apartment door.

He’s been waiting for it all day. It was on his mind when he woke up this morning to find the world outside his bedroom windows glittering white with the layer of Christmas snow that has fallen during the night, and he’s been thinking of it with every hour that passes, as the ritual of his morning routine gives way to the work that never takes a break, even during the holiday season. It’s supposed to be a time of bonding, of families and lovers coming together to appreciate each other’s company at the end of the year; and if anyone knows how tense that makes people, it’s Izaya. The city goes taut with the end of the year, pulling itself to unbearable stress as November gives way to December and its inhabitants are crushed under the weight of family obligations and gift shopping and the constant thousand frustrations that are brought by existing in a city that grinds with less and less grace as the holiday approaches. Izaya has been watching the tension build, in the frantic posts on his online forums and the speed of the pedestrians pacing along the chilly streets below his windows and the edge on the voices at the other end of his phone line; and he has smiled to himself, and crafted the only present that he ever bothers to give, to the only person he knows will appreciate it.

The knock comes again, hard on the heels of the first and well before Izaya has had a chance to so much as get up from his computer desk. He’s not at his desk, of course -- he’s on his couch, lying over the cushions where he was idling away the last half hour of his wait with flicking through the latest news on his phone -- but he’s still only just sitting up when the knock is followed by a voice growling fury against the far side of the door.  _ “Open the  _ fucking _ door, Izaya-kun, I know you’re in there!” _ Izaya indulges in a smile, sharp and satisfied and all for himself; and then he unfolds from his couch and steps around the edge of it so he can come to the door as silently as he can.

He needn’t bother. The shout is followed by another round of knocking, so loud that Izaya can feel it rattling the walls of the apartment around him; it would merit complaints from his neighbors, he thinks, if any of them were at home this late on Christmas. But they are all gone, departed for family parties or karaoke dates with friends or expensive hotels with lovers, which leaves Izaya with no audience at all except the one currently slamming his fist against the front door with increasing force.

_ “Izaya-kun,” _ comes a growl as Izaya reaches to wrap his fingers around the door handle. The sound is so close Izaya feels it run through his feet and up his spine, shivering heat through his body as if he’s standing too close to an open flame, instinct protesting the burn even as the chill of winter urges him closer to the radiance.  _ “I  _ know _ you’re there, you’ve been tailing me all damn day, open the--” _ and Izaya pulls the door open just as Shizuo lifts his fist to swing into the thunder of another knock against the surface.

For a moment Izaya thinks Shizuo might just finish out the motion after all, even with his demand answered by Izaya’s immediate presence. His expression, already dark enough to match the storm of his pounding, deepens to a scowl that drags at the corners of his mouth and narrows his eyes behind the absurd affectation of the sunglasses he wears. His hand hovers in the air, fingers curled into a fist and arm visibly struggling with the effort to restrain the punch his frown is thinking about throwing into Izaya’s face. Izaya looks at Shizuo standing in front of him, seething and furious and all but glowing with the heat of his temper, and then he cocks his head to the side, and he smoothes a smile across his mouth.

“Did you come all this way to wish me a Merry Christmas, Shizu-chan?” he purrs, rolling the nickname at the back of his tongue like a candy he’s sucking the sweet from. “You  _ shouldn’t _ have.”

Shizuo’s expression hardens, his confusion scattered like snowflakes in a wind. “ _Izaya_ ,” he growls, and Izaya steps smoothly out of the way as the briefly-restrained blow swings in towards his face. Shizuo follows him in, the force of his punch carrying the rest of him right over the threshold and into Izaya’s apartment, and Izaya steps sideways to drag Shizuo’s attention with him while the other is still off-balance from catching back the inertia of his attack at empty air.

“I appreciate the holiday spirit, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, dripping the words to syrup over his lips. “But you really could have saved yourself the trip.” He ducks his chin and lets his mouth soften towards a pout as he looks up at Shizuo. “Having a quiet night to myself is all the Christmas celebration I need.”

“I’m glad I got the chance to ruin it then,” Shizuo growls as he turns to glare at Izaya. He’s not lifting his fist into the air again for another blow but his fingers haven’t uncurled yet; Izaya gauges the distance between them and deems it safe enough, at least as far as he is ever safe when he’s in Shizuo’s eyeshot. “The same way you’ve been ruining mine.”

“Ruined?” Izaya laughs. “You mean you didn’t like my gifts? But I’ve been planning them all  _ year_.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, and takes a step closer, which Izaya counters by immediately backing away. “I always  _ love _ getting jumped by a mob on Christmas morning.”

“It seemed so festive,” Izaya says. “I didn’t want you to think I had forgotten about you, after all.”

Shizuo hisses past his teeth. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Izaya deepens his pout and angles his head to the side. “Come on, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo takes another step forward; Izaya reaches out behind him to brace a hand against the wall as he backs up against it. “You would miss the tradition of it.” Shizuo’s well within range of a blow now; Izaya doesn’t look away from the other’s face as Shizuo steps in closer, near enough that his shoes are almost touching Izaya’s bare toes. “What’s Christmas without a little attempted murder?”

“Dunno,” Shizuo says. “It’s been such a long time since I had the chance to experience it.”

“You’re welcome,” Izaya tells him. “Traditions are important, don’t you think?” Shizuo is leaning in over him now, his shadow eclipsing all the illumination in the room; Izaya can’t see past him and isn’t trying to, as he lifts his chin and lets his mouth soften from his put-upon pout towards a knowing smile. “It’s something to look forward to all year long.”

Shizuo grimaces and shakes his head. “Fuck you, Izaya-kun.”

Izaya smiles. “Yes,” he says, and lifts his chin. “Where’s my Christmas kiss, Shizu-chan?”

There’s a long moment of hesitation. Izaya keeps his eyes open and his gaze on Shizuo’s face so he can watch emotions chase each other one after another over the other’s features. There’s anger, most clearly and most immediately; but Izaya’s hands are at his sides, his body is tipped back into open surrender against the wall at his back, and the blow Shizuo might swing at him from a distance would be tantamount to murder from this range. Shizuo’s hands tighten, his shoulders hunch; and then the tension softens, retreating back as his scowl of anger shifts into an uncertain frown. His gaze slides over Izaya’s face, skimming the details like he’s flipping through the pages of a familiar novel, and for a moment he lingers, on the verge of stepping sideways and storming back out the door he’s just come through. Izaya watches his face, sees Shizuo’s attention flickering, sees his gaze jump towards the door and the open hallway beyond it; and then he draws a breath and lifts his shoulders into a deliberate shrug to draw Shizuo’s attention back to him.

“Suit yourself,” he says, in the drawl that tightens Shizuo’s shoulders as if they’re on a direct line to Izaya’s lips. “I thought you must have had something you wanted from me, to leave your blissful family dinner with your dear brother. Does he just not want to see the monster tonight?”

Shizuo’s expression darkens, his brows draw together into such a glare that Izaya feels it would be more reasonable for the other’s sunglasses to melt than otherwise. A growl tears free of his throat, his hand comes up to slam against the wall alongside Izaya’s head. A snowfall of plaster breaks free to dust the shoulder of Izaya’s shirt but Izaya doesn’t turn his head to break the eye contact he’s sustaining. When Shizuo leans in towards him his words rumble to heat past his tight-braced teeth. “Shut  _ up_, Izaya.”

Izaya lets his mouth curve onto a smile. “Make me, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo glares at him, his jaw taut on irritation, and Izaya takes a breath to make a show of speaking. Shizuo’s fingers tighten, the wall creaks protest, and Izaya is letting his lashes fall over his eyes even before Shizuo’s mouth has come crushing down against his own.

It’s a tradition in its own right. There are any number of interludes during the rest of the year, as Shizuo’s temper and Izaya’s taunting tend; but Christmas is a certainty, one that Izaya is always careful to prepare with a deliberate invitation in the form of an attack or an irritant or sometimes himself, in Ikebukuro directly. And Shizuo responds every time, as consistent in his rage as he has ever been. Izaya isn’t sure if Shizuo realizes how much of a habit this has become, over the last years of their mutual aggression; at the moment, with Shizuo’s hands bruising at his hips while Izaya drags against the buckle of Shizuo’s belt, he doesn’t care at all.

Izaya drags a breath as Shizuo lets his mouth go free in exchange for panting heat against his parted lips. He can taste the bitter of Shizuo’s cigarettes on his tongue, lingering proof of the smoke from the fire he deliberately sparked for himself. “Did you want to shut the door?” He cocks his head towards the entryway, where the door is still standing open from Shizuo’s furious entrance. “Or were you planning to put on a pageant for my neighbors’ appreciation?”

Shizuo hisses irritation past his teeth and lets Izaya’s hip go so he can reach out and slam the door shut with force enough to rattle the panes of glass in the windows at the far side of the room. Izaya smiles and takes advantage of the opportunity to drag Shizuo’s belt free of its buckle and leave it hanging so he can push the button loose and make for the zipper. He’s catching his hold against the pull when a hand closes around the back of his head and fingers tighten in his hair to turn his head back up, and Shizuo’s mouth comes down against his to stifle the rumble in the other’s throat against Izaya’s lips.

It’s always a fight, with Shizuo. Teasing or kissing or fucking, every moment they spend in each other’s proximity flares with energy, as if they are both set alight by the mere suggestion of the other’s presence. Shizuo’s hand clenches against the back of Izaya’s head, his fingers digging into a grip so tight it aches the start of a headache against Izaya’s temples, but Izaya is too busy opening his mouth for the demand of Shizuo’s tongue to bother with the pain bracing him still. Shizuo licks deep into Izaya’s mouth, reaching like he’s trying to seek out the very core of the other’s existence with no more than the work of his tongue, and Izaya answers in his own style, flicking ticklish sensation over the roof of Shizuo’s mouth and catching the sharp edges of his teeth against Shizuo’s lip and dragging across the invasion of Shizuo’s tongue in Izaya’s mouth. There is the taste of smoke, a hint of blood iron-hot at the back of Izaya’s tongue; and heat, absolute and all-consuming, burning dizzy down Izaya’s throat and coursing through his veins to more than match the arousal straining Shizuo’s cock solid against the friction of Izaya’s palm at his boxers.

There is no negotiation. Neither of them is the type to admit surrender but they don’t need to when they’re both aiming for the same goal. Shizuo lets his hold on Izaya’s head go to seize at his hip and push him up against the wall by inches, and Izaya answers by bracing his hand against the back of Shizuo’s neck and opening his thighs to welcome the heat grinding against the force of his palm. Shizuo steps forward, crushing aside the space that had still managed to linger between them, and Izaya’s fingers are caught for a moment, his wrist forced back against the front of his slacks by the heat of Shizuo’s cock pinned against his palm and the angle of Shizuo’s hips pressing against his own. It takes him a moment to free his fingers, and there is less than perfect elegance in the rough drag it takes to wrench his hand away, but Shizuo answers with a growl of satisfaction and a sharp thrust that grinds his cock up against Izaya’s through his pants, and Izaya reaches to brace his arm around Shizuo’s shoulders as he groans encouragement over Shizuo’s mouth.

They remain pressed together like that for some time. Izaya feels the weight of his slacks as a burden, enough that he is beginning to wonder if he might have been better served by answering the door with nothing on for Shizuo to bother with removing before shoving him against the wall, but there’s no chance for him to move towards stripping his clothing free, and with Shizuo grinding against him with the rough force of instinct it’s hard to bring his focus onto anything else. Izaya’s fingers are digging in against the back of Shizuo’s neck, his nails pressing what must be points of pain against the other’s skin, but Shizuo doesn’t seem to care or perhaps just doesn’t feel it at all over the heat radiating from his body and gasping his breathing against Izaya’s mouth. He just pushes Izaya harder against the wall, with force enough that Izaya wonders if he might be in some danger of going right through the barrier outright, and when Shizuo’s hips rock forward to slide his cock against the inside line of Izaya’s thigh Izaya moans pleasure too immediate for him to even make the attempt at mockery.

It’s the friction that gets the better of Izaya’s patience, in the end. The first rough motions of Shizuo’s hips pull tension against the front of his own pants and offer some satisfaction of sensation to him just as it is, but as Shizuo’s hands flex to lock Izaya still and the forward stroke of his hips starts to fall towards the evocative pattern of thrusting Izaya begins to feel the ache of absence from the possibility Shizuo’s movements are pressing against him. He wants Shizuo to push him up higher against the wall, wants a hand bracing his thigh open and that heat driving up so he can feel the work of Shizuo’s hips stroking within as well as against him, until finally impatience grows too much to restrain and Izaya drags at a fistful of Shizuo’s hair to pull him back so he can free his mouth for speech. “Let go.”

Shizuo growls from the depths of his chest. “What?  _ Why?_” His hands tighten against Izaya’s hips, the pressure spiking so sharply Izaya can feel the pain straining against his spine.

Izaya rolls his eyes. “Because I’m going to run away and leave you to jerk off alone in my apartment,” he says in such a flat tone that even Shizuo will pick up on the sarcasm. “Why do you think?” He lets his arm around Shizuo’s shoulders fall so he can reach for the front of his pants and thumb open the button. “I want to get my pants off in case you decide you actually want to do something with that impressive dick of yours.”

Shizuo grimaces, though Izaya can’t tell if it’s in reaction to his mockery or the bluntness of his phrasing, and loosens his hold fractionally from Izaya’s hips. After a moment he even manages to step back, if only by such a small distance that he is still leaning in to cast Izaya into his shadow, and he doesn’t ease his grip as he lowers Izaya back to stand on the floor again. Izaya doesn’t protest. It doesn’t make a difference, not given his current total absence of plans to leave before he gets what he wants, and all he needed was the space to unfasten his fly so he can push his clothes down his legs and off his feet. Shizuo stands still in front of him, his gaze hot with impatience as Izaya strips himself of slacks and underwear and pushes them aside, but he waits, not moving until Izaya lifts his head to shake his hair back from his face and bare his teeth on a smile for Shizuo in front of him again.

“There we go,” he says, and reaches back up to hook his elbow over the other’s shoulders again so he can get his leg around Shizuo’s hips and pull himself back into position against the other’s body. “Now you can do what you want with me.”

Shizuo loosens one of his hands from Izaya’s hip and slides his palm down under the other’s thigh. When he pulls Izaya lets himself be lifted off the floor, even going so far as to helpfully tip his shoulders back against the wall behind him as he gets his legs braced around Shizuo’s hips. Shizuo steps back in, returning them to their original position but with far less clothing now in the way of his cock pressing against his boxers and Izaya’s hot against Shizuo’s shirtfront, and when he turns his head Izaya lifts his chin to welcome Shizuo’s tongue back past his parted lips. Shizuo rocks against him, the motion of his cock pulling against Izaya’s thigh and grinding against his balls almost idle as his hand slides back over Izaya’s ass to reach for his entrance; and then his fingers press against slick heat, and he pulls back from Izaya’s mouth with a huff of surprise.

Izaya smiles. “Did you think I forgot your present, Shizu-chan?” He tightens his legs around Shizuo’s hips to rock himself forward in a mostly-futile but evocative attempt to fuck himself on the fingers pressing against him. “I thought about putting a bow on, but since you needed my help unwrapping it anyway…”

Shizuo huffs a breath. He sounds very nearly amused, in spite of the temper still knotting his shoulders and the arousal holding him to such radiant heat against Izaya’s thigh. “Are you serious?” His fingers push up exploratorily; Izaya has to bite his lip to keep from moaning as two of Shizuo’s fingers slide almost casually up into him. Shizuo breathes out hard and pulls his hand back to thrust again, deeper this time as he tests the ease of the motion. “How long were you waiting for me?”

“Long enough,” Izaya says. “Are you going to make it longer or…?”

Shizuo shakes his head sharply and pulls his fingers back. Izaya feels the ache as his body tightens around suddenly-absent resistance, but Shizuo is hitching him higher up the wall and Izaya doesn’t have a chance to voice protest even if he wanted to before Shizuo’s hand is gripping under his knee to push his thigh up against his chest. Shizuo lets his other hand go, leaving Izaya’s weight to his single hold at Izaya’s thigh and the leg Izaya has braced around the other’s hip as he ducks his head to catch his thumb inside the waistband of his boxers so he can shove them down his hips and free himself. His cock bobs free, flushed to heat enough to hold its heavy weight out stiff from Shizuo’s hips, and Shizuo circles his grip around the base so he can angle himself out as he rocks his hips forward with businesslike intent. Izaya’s body tightens again, clenching on anticipation, now, instead of loss, and then he’s shuddering an exhale and deliberately easing just as the head of Shizuo’s cock prods against him. Shizuo lines himself up, his head ducked forward as he watches his body fit against Izaya’s, and then he lifts his hand to replace his hold at Izaya’s hips and fix the other steady with unthinking intent. Izaya catches a breath, struck by adrenaline in spite of his best intentions to the contrary, and then Shizuo’s hips thrust forward, and Shizuo’s cock strokes up into him, and all Izaya’s intentions disintegrate from his hold with the surge of heat filling him. His head goes back, his fingers flex to fists, and as he moans appreciation Shizuo huffs satisfaction and pulls back to take another stroke.

“Fuck,” he says, the word softened to appreciation instead of the curse it was before. “Izaya.” And he thrusts up again, and Izaya loses all pretense of composure he had to the feel of Shizuo’s cock sheathing itself within him. He’s moaning, incoherent and desperate and careless of who might hear him, of how he sounds, of what Shizuo will make of his response; all that he can offer is the shake of his thighs, and the grip of his fingers, and the helpless heat of his body flexing in waves of pleasure around the overwhelming force of Shizuo fucking him.

It’s always like this. No matter how often Izaya gets Shizuo through the door of his apartment, or into the shadows of an alley, or down against the tiles at the entrance to Shizuo’s home, Izaya never has the least hope of holding himself together through this. He tried, the first times, took the time for preparation and anticipation and pleasure, sometimes, in the vague thought of taking the worst edge off his involuntary reaction; but no matter what he does, even if he’s still trembling and flushed from an earlier orgasm, the moment Shizuo thrusts home Izaya gives way to a surrender that he would refuse to offer even at the very point of death in their more violent fights. It’s a loss, every time, an absolute victory ceded to Shizuo by the truth of Izaya’s own desperate body; but Shizuo is clutching to Izaya just as tightly, his fingers printing bruises where he’s gripping the inside of Izaya’s knee and his hold steel-tight around the other’s hip and his body moving as if on an impulse of its own, as if all the raw strength of his anger is being condensed to a desire that can only express itself by the thrust of his cock driving deep into Izaya’s body. Neither of them speak, at least not with any words that Izaya can frame or recall; there is just the plea of Izaya’s moans, and the ragged edge of Shizuo’s panting breath, and the heat of their bodies coming together in the only way that they know how to coexist.

Izaya doesn’t feel Shizuo’s pace increase. He can’t keep track of the passage of time, can’t parse the speed of the other’s breathing rasping at the side of his neck where Shizuo has pressed his face against the collar of Izaya’s shirt; he’s lost in the moment, every heartbeat a fresh wave of sensation breaking over him to eclipse his attention and scatter his thoughts. His cock is hard, he can feel the stick of pre-come smearing against his stomach as the head bobs with the force of Shizuo fucking him, but he can’t loosen the fists he has made at Shizuo’s shirt and hair and doesn’t try to reach for himself. He’s breathing harder all the same, forced into a tide of sensation that is following the pace of Shizuo’s heartbeat more than his own; and then the hand at his hip loosens, Shizuo’s palm slides up, and Izaya finds his breathing caught in the span of the other’s outstretched fingers.

Shizuo is panting against his shoulder, sounding as if there is nothing in his head but the base instinct bringing his hips forward to slam his cock deep into Izaya’s body; but his hand still slides, pressing over Izaya’s chest like he’s savoring the feel of the other’s desperate breathing, like he’s trying to find the rhythm of Izaya’s heartbeat under his touch. Izaya gasps, choking for air he can’t fit to the weight of Shizuo’s palm, and Shizuo’s fingers come up high under his shirt, his touch grazing Izaya’s nipple as his palm fixes over the pace of the other’s heartbeat. Izaya’s thigh flexes around Shizuo’s hip, the toes of the foot braced into midair by Shizuo’s hand curl, and when Shizuo’s cock strokes into him he moans into the cage of Shizuo’s outstretched fingers and comes, his cock spurting over the tension of his stomach and up onto his chest. Shizuo’s palm tightens, his hand pressing Izaya back against the wall as Izaya’s vision blurs to the pulsing force of his orgasm, and then he bucks his hips sharply forward to fuck Izaya up against the brace of his hand. His cock jerks within Izaya, flexing with the strength of his orgasm, and his grip eases, his body relaxing as he spends himself in a rush of heat within the other.

They stay there for a minute afterward, both breathing too hard to reach for the words to manage communication. When Shizuo does move it is to slide his hand down Izaya’s chest to replace his grip against the other’s hip, and then to lower Izaya’s leg so he can reach around and brace his palm under the other’s ass. Izaya doesn’t have much action he can take, as Shizuo lifts him to slide his cock free of the other’s body, but he keeps his fingers curled to fists, willing to take the excuse of needing support to hold Shizuo to him a little longer. Shizuo doesn’t protest either; he just gets his arm under Izaya’s hips to support the other’s weight and leans back in to breathe hard at Izaya’s shoulder as his cock slowly softens against the inside of Izaya’s thigh.

Izaya doesn’t know how long they might stay there. If he keeps his mouth shut maybe Shizuo would linger for hours; maybe he could spend the rest of the night right here, with Shizuo’s arm around him and the implication of intimacy breathing warm against the side of his neck. But he has never been good at silence, least of all with Shizuo, and after the worst of the post-orgasmic shocks have eased he comes back to himself, enough to loosen the desperate fist he has on Shizuo’s shirt and open his eyes to blink out over the other’s shoulder at the window. Night has fallen since Shizuo arrived; in the darkness outside the snow still drifting slow through the air looks like feathers, soft and downy instead of chill with the ice that forms it. Izaya watches it for a minute, feeling his heart pounding on an all-too-fleeting satisfaction that he can never find for himself; and then he tips his head against Shizuo’s, and tugs against the fist he still has in the other’s hair.

“Merry Christmas, Shizu-chan,” he says, in as mocking a tone as he can find. “Did you enjoy your present?”

Izaya means to be teasing. He’s expecting Shizuo’s fingers to tighten against him, to crush to fracture bone or tear blunt nails through his skin and into the heat of the blood beneath. But Shizuo just gusts a breath at his shoulder, the sound falling into the outline of a laugh, and when his hand shifts it is to drag over Izaya’s hip in what could pass for a caress, if either of them were anyone else.

“Yeah,” Shizuo says. “I did.”

Izaya doesn’t turn his head to see what expression might be on Shizuo’s face, where it’s pressed close against his shoulder. He doesn’t know if he wants to know; he knows even less what he might do, if it is anything close to the affection that might be lingering in the post-coital satisfaction of those words. He stays still for a moment, hesitating over his own action; and then he sighs a breath, and shuts his eyes, and lets his fingers loosen to stroke through Shizuo’s hair is what certainly is a caress, although he’ll never call it that.

He supposes even he can appreciate the holiday spirit, under the right circumstances.


End file.
